


Feyd Rautha

by PaxVobis



Series: Singles Collect [3]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: :), Awkward Kissing, Beards (Facial Hair), Butt Slapping, Come Shot, Doggy Style, Drinking, Drooling, Dune - Freeform, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Facial Hair, Facials, Films, Fingerfucking, Fucking, Groping, Hair-pulling, Hand Guiding, Hot Tub Sex, Kissing, Kissins and Huggins, LSD, Long Hair, Long Shot, M/M, Magnus/Pickles Implied, Muscles, Mutual Masturbation, Nathan/Pickles implied, One Shot, Other, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pubic Hair, Public Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Skwisgaar is Terrible, Skwistok Implied, Sloppy Makeouts, Toki Is King, Tony/Pickles Implied, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, forgot y'all start at 21 I guess mordland is probs outside the US but yknow, trans pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: Just him and Toki in the Mordhaus living room with a couple of tabs, a couple of Jodorowsky films et al and an endless supply of Paloma cocktails, a favourite of Pickles’ – tequila for the party, grapefruit for the drugs, and the pretty pink accentuated his sensitive side.  Pickles had taken about eight times what Toki had, still only enough to make him blush and see a couple of geometrics, nothing big time.  Enough to enjoy a movie.  Once Skwisgaar had left, they’d turned the hot tub up to a sweltering sauna, clinked glasses, and settled back for the first film of the night:Dune.Pickles and Toki hook up in the hot tub.  R 18+.  Real thorough.





	Feyd Rautha

Whatever Skwisgaar was teaching that kid, it wasn’t what he should have been, y’know.

It wasn't as if Pickles had really noticed, in the same way he hadn't really noticed Toki growing up.  It must have been gradual, it  _must have_ , in the same way his own coming of age had been, but he was so far away from it now that the little changes were imperceptible.  Instead it was  _suddenly_  looking up to Toki rather than Toki being face height with him.   _Suddenly_ eighteen candles on a cake.  Nineteen.  Twenty. 

 _Suddenly_  babysitting him through his first acid trip, watching him roll around on the carpet of a hotel room fucked out of his brain and wondering how he'd gotten so big, how his hair had gotten so long, his American so articulate (well, comparatively).   _Suddenly_  catching him sneaking a girl, girls,  _a whole lot of girls_ , in through the corridors at night, almost running into Pickles and the whole pack of them giggling as Pickles slunk through a door to nurse his headache against the ice pack clutched in his fist, still managing a faint smile,  _Okay, well, have fun, Toki._ And they seemed to have fun. And then, with the release of their new record, the Viking metal album to rule all Viking metal albums, trying to force the tiny patches of wiry fuzz he had into a moustache but ending up with just a stringy, dreadful catfish affair dangling at the sides of his mouth.  Well, it was cute.  But it was all... very sudden, you know.  As if he'd stuck them on overnight.

Perhaps it was because Pickles spent most of his time currently out of his fucking mind on acid.  He just didn't witness the days in between, you know?  Well, it was an acid kind of period in his life, a real doozy, one he didn't really want to be in reality for.  The hyper-realities, sub-realities, of acid made it easy to forget he was real, easy to forget a (30) after his name in a magazine, to forget the dark structures that were being erected around them, the fame which had eclipsed anything a person should be able to withstand, to forget just how unreal he felt sober, so distant, so detached, so false. 

Toki, as above, partook.  He claimed to have tried acid with the black metal guys but Pickles was not sure he believed that for five fucking seconds considering the way he behaved on their first trip (Pickles lightly buzzing but honestly the most sober he'd been in three years right then), or else if he had, it must have been more like fucking food acid on a blotter than actual LSD.  A placebo effect could get you a long way, especially if you had the kind of imagination Toki had, but it probably wouldn't have you try to, say, strip naked and try every mouth sound you could make like the real shit would.  Pickles had long gotten over that effect and wasn't  _super_  surprised when he had to pull Toki's hands away from the guy's fly while watching over him lest it turn into anything more awkward than the shirtless tussling that it already was (and it was already weird).  But he  _was_  surprised by his strength, as Toki easily flipped him onto his back - quickly distracted by Pickles' sprawling, forgetting removing his clothes to laugh.  He'd never been able to do that before, or - or he'd just never tried.

But Toki liked the acid, almost as much as Pickles did - not quite enough to live on it, but enough to chase the light fantastic.  As recording wound down, group sessions had become more frequent; the whole band at first, although  _that_  was a bad trip waiting to happen, and then narrowed as their promotional period came to a close, since Murderface didn't like acid and besides, had a holiday booked in fucking Holland of all places, leaving Skwisgaar, Nathan, Toki and Pickles and various subsets until Nathan had cancelled his hunting holiday in Chernobyl with Pickles.  A painful thing that caused Pickles to cut off the little plait he'd worked into his beard, grown long for the whole Viking shtick, but just a little blip, almost expected.  Nathan fucked off wherever.  And then it was just Skwisgaar and Toki and Pickles.  And then just Toki and Pickles once more. 

Skwisgaar was around, mind you, he was having an Asian woman phase (completely at odds with the theme of their album, might Pickles add) and floated in and out of the group areas of the expanded Mordhaus as he entertained women friends, classy mature ladies, Japanese professors who spoke twelve languages, Korean marketing strategists with large round glasses and dark lipstick and pencil skirts, Hong Kong Canadian physiologists who purportedly knew some insane shit about I Ching.  But no acid,  _borinks_ , said Skwisgaar,  _gets a fucking life._   Pickles did not think fucking academics around your damn race fetishes and practicing guitar constituted as having a life, but it was still more than he had right then.

Besides, Pickles' heart ached after those women.  His own groupie dabblings had been ill-fated and superficial lately, too fucked and too close to bad trips to really push it beyond a bit of tit juggling and scissoring.  Actual conversation was unthinkable.  Perhaps that was the most depressing.  He didn't want a relationship, uh-uh, no way, but like, a friend who wasn't one of these useless meatheads might be... nice... you know... you know.  Or just an orgasm that he didn't have to climb to himself, all the endorphins rotted out of his brain, palm after dry palm in a feverish sweat with his wrists rolled to ache from drum fills, reliving a montage of the years he'd fucking wasted.  That he'd fucking been used.  Feeling that autonomy falling away from him again after the first halcyon days of Dethklok... it was all he could do to stay fucked out - to stay alone - to not remember the life he had.

This evening was coming up to the two week mark since Nathan had left.  Skwisgaar had a date or six, he had started the night in the hot tub with them and scoffed at Pickles dolling out tabs, and then left about half an hour in.  Pickles had offered, Skwisgaar turned up his nose at them.  He had to drive, no acid tonight, and besides, acid always made him horny and he needed to keep it in his pants for this lady, at least until they got back to her place.  Pickles rolled his eyes, thought he was rubbing it in.  Skwisgaar was _always_ horny, for fuck’s sake.  Pickles could usually relate, when he wasn’t in the pits.  Whatever, he was having a nice night tonight and Skwisgaar wouldn’t ruin it for him.

Just him and Toki in the Mordhaus living room with a couple of tabs, a couple of Jodorowsky films et al and an endless supply of Paloma cocktails, a favourite of Pickles’ – tequila for the party, grapefruit for the drugs, and the pretty pink accentuated his sensitive side.  Pickles had taken about eight times what Toki had, still only enough to make him blush and see a couple of geometrics, nothing big time.  Enough to enjoy a movie.  Once Skwisgaar had left, they’d turned the hot tub up to a sweltering sauna, clinked glasses, and settled back for the first film of the night: _Dune._

Toki had never seen _Dune_ , had never read _Dune_ , and that was a fucking crime in Pickles’ books so he started to educate him.  Like with acid, like with Jodorowsky – in fact, before this darkness, Pickles had never really spent time with Toki, not one on one.  The kid was dumb, very dumb, but curious.  Pickles had a lot of time for natural curiosity, for the burning wonder in the kid’s wide eyes, living vicariously through his gasps and twitches: “Ohhh, them’s eyes... they’s glowin’s....!”

Ninety minutes into their trip, an hour into the film, and Toki began to feel the acid.  As if he needed it, he was already shot to Arrakis on the bizarre science fiction epic playing out before him.  He recoiled back against Pickles, who had seen the film a hundred times and liked a tab with a slow come-on.  He just patted Toki’s shoulder, his chuckle dying in his throat as he found himself patting raw muscle and then pulling his hand away.  Ha-ha... Toki... ha.  Ha.  Pickles wrapped his hand around the cocktail instead, pouring himself another glass from a large jug the klokateers had provided them with, the ice cubes clinking in the liquid in the dark as he sweated into the tub.

When Sting appeared onscreen again, shirtless and oiled, suddenly Toki was whispering in his ear, eyes wide in the dim light of the suspended screen.  “He ams... look alike, Skwisgaar, _ja?_ ” he asked with a wheedle to his voice, a weirdness, the trip taking hold of him now.  Pickles laughed softly to himself, the tickle of Toki’s words hot on his ear.  Well, acid did that... heightened sensations.

“He does _not_ look like Skwisgaar.  What the fuck.  That’s gotta be the acid talking, douchebag.”  Pickles poked Toki’s temple with a straight finger, chuckling at his dazed expression.  Toki pawed at the place he’d been poked, confused at the way his senses were mashing, and then wrinkled his nose.

“Naw... he ams does Pickle!  Him’s... bodies, yeah?”  Toki motioned to the screen dizzily, and Pickles took the scrawny blonde in again.

 “Skwisgaar has _not_ got a six pack,” he observed, leaning back beside Toki with his drink.  He gestured to the screen with it, the cocktail umbrella poked in its top tilting with the motion.  “Skwis ain’t half the man Sting is, and that’s a fact.  Met Sting, 1988, Tokyo.  Had a drink together.  Well past his prime though, heh, if y’know what I’m sayin’.”  And he didn’t, because he was Toki.  Merely staring up at the man onscreen.

“I mean,” said Pickles, looking over Toki in the water beside him and then smirking in the dark as he joked, “If we’re talkin’ six packs, you ain’t doin’ too bad yourself, err, hey.”  And that was true, but that _was_ the acid talking, and it grew uneasy towards the tail of it when Toki just looked at him and tilted his head, the tips of his hair touching the surface of the water and gathering.  Pickles smiled weirdly at him, and took a sip of his drink to quieten himself.

“You gots to admit though, he ams very – err...”  Toki halted, looking up at the screen.  The scene had changed now, back to the desert.  “ _Fin kropp_... ya knows... _vakker_...”

“Err,” said Pickles, frowning at him, wondering what he was being told.  “I don’t think I do know, Toki... could ya try ‘Merican?”  And Toki thought deeply about it, his brow furrowing.

“He ams... a very goods-lookin’s fella.  A real ladie-man.  Schwarzenegger,” he explained, and sank deeper into the water.  Pickles frowned further.

“Uhh, are we talkin’ Skwisgaar here or Sting?”  Toki shrugged.

“ _Begge_ – uhh, boths two.  Whatever.” 

Pickles eyed the young Norwegian through the dark a moment, watching him absorbed with the film.  He had been told something then, something intimate – _getting to know you_ , la la, whatever.  Now would... he have told anyone else in the band that?  Would Pickles have?  Likely not.  Perhaps he had misunderstood, after all, Toki was cryptic at the best of times and even worse on acid.  Best to clarify.

“Toki.  Hey.  Did you just tell me you think Skwisgaar’s, like... sexy or whatever?” he asked, and Toki raised his shoulders defensively in the water, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.

“Ors whatever... whatever,” he said, and Pickles’ eyebrows shot right up.

“Well, did ya?”

“Shhhhh, dey gettin’s to a real goods part – ”

“Toki.”  When Pickles touched him on the shoulder again, Toki whipped around with a vicious glare.  But Pickles’ face was soft, gentle.  “Toki, you ain’t never seen this fuckin’ movie, you don’t know what’s gonna be good or shit, hey.  It’s okay.  I don’t care.”

Toki stayed deep in the water, his face partially submerged, until Pickles drew back again.  “Seriously, I don’t give a fuck if you think Skwisgaar’s some kinda beefcake.  I mean it’s not true, guy’s built like a fuckin’ grill, but, y’know.  Each to his own or, y’know, whatever.”

Toki rose a little from the water then, moving back to his seat beside Pickles.  After too long, Pickles almost going back to the film, his arms stretched behind him on the carpet – one behind Toki’s shoulder – he heard the Norwegian pipe up again in a very quiet voice: “But, ams it okays...”

“Toki.  It doesn’t mean shit.  Don’t think about it,” urged Pickles, staring up at the film.  Paramount was keeping the kid out of a bad trip; he’d avoided them so far and could maybe stick it out a little longer.  He was aware, suddenly – as he was aware of so many other things with Toki – of the guy’s eyes on him, so eerily light like they were spice-struck themselves.  He swallowed, thick against the heat of the tub, and knew what was coming.

“Does you – ”

“Sometimes,” said Pickles before he could finish, and gave a stiff shrug.  “It’s whatever.  I mean.”

Toki sank down in the water and looked up at him, his long body hidden beneath the steam.  He composed himself against his shock, and tentatively asked again, slowly: “Does you... ever thinks about, uhh...”

“I said sometimes.  It don’t matter.  Forget it.”

“... kissin’s with a guy... y’know...”

By the time Pickles heard this and looked down, puzzled by its innocence, Toki had sunk down to his nose in the water in shame.  The sweetness of it was charming, more like the Toki Pickles knew – he smiled despite himself, surprised by it, and reconsidered the younger man.  “Oh.  Not really, I guess.  But I guess if I did, uh, I wouldn’t like, get screwed up about it, y’know... a kiss is just a kiss.”

“A kiss ams just a kiss,” parroted Toki, surfacing slightly.  He looked up at Pickles, admiring him, and then snorted softly to himself.  “Sorries.  Ams... stupid, stupid Toki.  Stupid, questions... just amsn’t... no ones to ask...”

He clonked himself on the head with a fist, but Pickles had taken note of that last bit, and drew himself up in the tub proudly.  “Ain’t no such thing as a stupid question, Toki,” he advised, and he could feel the Norwegian’s gaze studying him.  “You ask away, okay?  Whatever you want.”

Toki seemed to think about it a long time, down to his chin in the water, and when he did speak it sounded too loud to Pickles – part the acid, part his fear of what the kid could ask.  He had a way of coming out with the most fucked up shit when you least suspected it.  But tonight, his luck held fast.

“Haves you, umm... dones a kiss with a guy?”

Pickles gave a short snort at the fancy.  “Yeah, sure.  I mean... Cali, in the 80s?  It’s a kissy town, LA.”

“Dat was, like...” Toki frowned as he tried to work it out.  “... _so_ long agos though.  I means – ”

“I mean, it was only, like, ten, fifteen years ago, that’s not _that_ long,” remarked Pickles sorely, but Toki went straight on ahead.

“ _I means..._ have you dones a kiss with... um... one of dese guys, y’know...?” pushed Toki, and Pickles glared into the screen.

“I don’t wanna talk about that, Toki,” he said eventually, steely, but that was only fuel for Toki who gasped at the bait.

“Has you dones a kiss on _Skwisgaar?_ ” he asked, rising from the water, and Pickles screwed up his face in disgust.

“Ew, no?”  Pickles held his chin high in his own hypocrisy - he could deal with Skwisgaar’s saintly ding dong (would happily, y’know, _deal_ _with_ _it_ again if Skwisgaar wasn’t so fuckin’ aloof), but he sure as fuck wasn’t going near his _mouth_.  “What the fuck, Toki.”

Toki made a small sound of disagreeance, lost in the bubbles.  He was absorbed in thinking about it, his face flushed by the steam as he flirted with the images in his own daydreams.  "What ams it like, den?" he asked eventually, oblivious to the cool gaze Pickles held him in - sipping his drink, watching for any upset, confusion, in his younger pal.

"It's okay, I guess.  I mean, it's just a kiss, hey.  Ain't no different."

"But..."  Toki stroked his own stubby moustache thoughtfully, the whiskers flattened dark against his face by the water.  "Dems... fuzz..."

"You never macked on a chick with face fuzz, Toki?" teased Pickles, and rubbed his fingers through his own short cropped goatee self-consciously.  Felt weird without the plait now, but - normal, in its way.  Back where it should be, not tied up in the fantasies of other people. 

"Well, I dunno.  I guess it's a bit different, y'know, rougher.  It's okay, though," he said, and then looked back up at the TV.  "Chicks are better kissers though, that's a fact.  You do all right with the girls, don't ya, Toki?  You ain't missin' out on much is all I'm sayin'."

Toki lifted his shoulders in an apathetic shrug.  "Sures," was all he said, and he toyed with the ends of his hair trailing in the water, forming eddies with his hands to wash the wet tendrils in spirals and bends.

"Not all guys have beards, anyhow," concluded Pickles, looking into his drink. "So.  It’s the same, y’know." 

And Toki slowly turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed oddly, his face narrow and gaunt in the dim light of the movie screen.

"What?" asked the drummer, eyebrow crooked, and Toki fixed him with an interrogative eye.

"So you  _has_  dones a kiss on Skwisgaar..."

" _No,_  Toki.  Jesus, you're obsessed," huffed Pickles, and Toki turned away from him again.  There were only so many people in the band without facial hair, and just when Pickles was clenching his teeth and expecting the guy to pick it, he proved himself dumber than ever before by murmuring,  _Moiderface...?_  under his breath.  Pickles didn't correct him, just rolled his eyes and hard.  The fucking thought, ugh!

Toki pondered this at length, just the sound of the film's exchanges and synth soundtrack layered behind the soft bubbling of the tub around them and the clink of the ice in Pickles' glass as he sipped it down to nothing again.  Almost all the liquid in his body at this stage was tequila and grapefruit soda.  Pickles could read the guy's twitches and mild sniffs, the way he pulled at his shorts self-consciously beneath the water, twisted his moustache, and knew that there was a lot going on inside Toki.  Feelings and shit.  But Pickles didn't really like to think about that, y'know, messy, crappy, painful bullshit of feelings if he could avoid it.

Toki looked back over his shoulder at Pickles, caught his eye, winced back with a look of hurt, and then turned back to the film again.

"Toki," said Pickles, warningly, tilting his head as he watched the guitarist.  His dreadlocks trailed in the water by his shoulders, the ice clunking in the dregs of his cocktail.  He tried to sound warmer, more accepting, with the next thing he said: "What are you thinkin'?"

Toki heaved a sigh, stared into the darkness.

"Dude, for real, I wanna know," pushed Pickles, and - fearing the worst - he slid from his seat at the edge of the tub and took a step towards Toki, submerged to his shoulders in the center.  "Hey?  Dude?  You're holdin' on in there, right?  It's just a trip, y'know... it can't hurt you."

Toki turned to look at him, though he stayed low, and nodded deferentially.  "I knows.  Ams... okays.  Um -- "

Pickles didn't believe him, and put his hand on Toki's shoulder reassuringly, trying to catch his eye though the little shit kept darting his gaze away again.  "O-kay, well, you don't look like you're okay so... you look like you're freakin' out on me.  Okay?  Hey.  It's a scary movie, it's okay, y'know?"

Toki curled his lip, avoiding Pickles' gaze.  "Nots de movie -- " he grunted, and Pickles knew it wasn't.  He'd just wanted to give the kid an out if he wanted it, but Toki wasn't that smart.

"Okay.  You remember what we said about Lucy, hey, yeah?" he asked, drawing closer to the Norwegian - standing above him, since he was still sunk into the water before Pickles.  "You just gotta take it cruisey, right?  You gonna think some fucked up things... and you just gotta let it flow through ya.  Like if your problems are like, a knot, y'know, you gotta just reach in there... untie it.  You remember that?"

"Yeah, I remembers," said Toki very quietly, and Pickles chased his gaze once more.

"You remember that, dude?"

"I remembers."  Toki looked at his feet through the water, rippling and warping them.  Pickles waited for his next words, should they come, his hand cradling the man's muscular shoulder.  Felt warm - slick with sweat - starting to feel... weird.  Keeping it there.  But Toki did finally speak, quieter than before, still refusing to look at him.  "If you's kissin's all de others -- "

"Err, that's not what I said," started Pickles, his nose wrinkling piggishly, but Toki went straight on.

" -- den why not Toki?"

Finally their eyes met.  Pickles frowned down at him, a distinct case of the willies squirming in his gut like colourful worms in amongst the grapefruit juice and lime rind.  He didn't know how to answer that.  The truth, that he just wasn't really interested in men, that men were always an exception brought on by close proximity and the attention of others, was too difficult to articulate without Toki only taking away the  _not really interested_  part and getting hurt.  Likewise, y'know,  _too young_  or uh... too... good for him... both true, kinda. 

After too long, he settled on: "Err, well.  It just, um.  Didn't come up, y'know... that shit's kinda, err - kinda... it just happens, y'know, Toki?"

Pickles pulled his hand back self-consciously, cracked that crooked grin down at the guy.  Toki looked up at him, big vacant blue eyes, but accepted this explanation.  He rose a little before Pickles, coming eye to eye with him, the pale light from the film accentuating his features strangely in the dark.  “If it kindas, y’know, just happens,” he said, carefully, his words almost lost under the last scenes of the film, “Woulds ya?”

“Err, would I...?” murmured Pickles, uncomfortable with how close Toki suddenly was to him.  He could smell the dude’s wet skin, for fuck’s sake.

“... does a kiss, on Toki.”

The moment was awkward and drawn out, quiet but for the sand worms on the movie.  Pickles realised what was happening, pulled a strained grin.  “Aw, Toki... why would ya want that, though...” he asked, sympathetic.  He got the curiosity but – but, seriously.  Why him?

Toki rose higher in the water, now standing an inch higher than Pickles.  “Just wondersings whats is like!  I just wonna knows!” he yipped, and reached for Pickles, the drummer only just stepping back out of his embrace.

“Awww jeez!  C’mon, Toki, why?  Why not a fan, or – or fuck, even Skwisgaar, you two are pals, right?” he tried, but Toki would not be discouraged.

“Aw, but you gots de real goods beard!”  Pickles flinched as Toki clipped him beneath the chin, his fingers running through his short red beard appreciatively.  “ _Please_ , Pickle?”

The drummer paused, just for a second.  Well, a kiss _was_ just a kiss.  The guy looked pretty eager there in the water before him, the steam clouding his face, his hair flattened against his neck, soft and dry at the top of his head.  Pickles could remember the first kisses he’d had, with shy girls behind the sports shed in high school – and thought maybe, for all he knew, Toki hadn’t had that.  And then there was his own first male kisses, forced on him in a stranger’s car while trying to hitchhike out of the Midwest – or on the streets of LA – and he thought perhaps, if he could create something for the dude that was better than that, sweeter than that, then he owed it to the world.

“Okay,” he said, smiling back at Toki, and held up a hand above the water, “Close your eyes.  No peekin’.”

Toki did so, shutting them tight and pursing his lips expectantly.  Pickles could do little but roll his eyes as he closed the gap between them.  With Toki shut up and not watching the flirt of his eyes down his pecs and abs, Pickles wet his lips and then, with his drink held to the side and out of the water, slid his other hand across the guy’s chiselled jawline.  His thumb stroked across Toki’s smooth cheek, and feeling the moron’s hot breath snorted through his nose in such close proximity, Pickles swallowed his misgivings, closed his eyes, and moved in for a soft, tender kiss.

He wasn’t too surprised when Toki reciprocated, feeling him draw  quick breath of surprise and then push back against him, the kiss growing plush between  their full lips.  And shit, he had to admit it felt good, being buzzed on the acid and all those body drugs coming in, the warmth of Toki’s lips, the euphoria of a first kiss like  hearing a perfect guitar solo for the first time.  He was a little surprised, however, when Toki’s hands came up to hold his face and neck, hot and dripping from the water, and the kiss quickly changed from lips to open mouth as Toki took a breath and then pushed in harder, catching Pickles – thinking it was over, going to catch his breath himself – off guard.

Pickles could roll with that; he almost spilt his drink but he could roll with that.  The enthusiasm was, uh, refreshing, even with all the slobber - Toki tasted distinctly like junk food.  Pickles didn’t really care, he opened his eyes a flicker and moaned at the feeling of Toki’s tongue winding around his as the man pushed it deep into his mouth, and then immediately shut them again after a glimpse of the crazy visuals on the film threatened to overwhelm him.  If Toki had never kissed a dude before, he _clearly_ liked it.  Jeee-sus fuck, Pickles hadn’t had his tonsils licked like that since high school.

It was like making out with a _cow_.  Pickles had read a shit romance novel or two, heard _fighting for dominance_ _with their tongues_ but he’d never thought that was something that could happen, battling to shove Toki’s tongue from where it could choke him or else somehow scoop it back into his mouth when it went awry.  He heard Toki mumble against his face, “Hmmfhm goo’ ah kissin’s,” but had no time to celebrate before the guy nipped his lip sharply, slung his arms around Pickles’ waist, and dragged his body against his own.

Wowza, _fuck_ , the dude was solid!  It was like hitting a wall of ham!  Pickles was briefly shocked by the sound of their bodies slapping together with the water, his own scrawny nothing body against Toki’s washboard abs, and then found his brain eclipsed by a twin realisation as Toki shoved his tongue back down his throat: he was now sandwiched between, at the rear, Toki’s large, groping hands, that dug deep into the meat of his buttocks through his wet underwear, and in the front, Toki’s erection, which pressed rock solid against his belly.

Pickles fought to pull his face away from Toki’s mouth and get a word in.  “Toki, uh, I can feel your boner,” he hissed, curling a lip, but Toki could not be dissuaded, merely smiling and holding him tight.

“Is nothings, is naturals,” he said, and pressed his lips back onto Pickles, dipping in the water so they were equal height again.  Pickles moaned against his mouth, greedily leaning back into the sensation, and realised as Toki ground up against him and squeezed his ass obscene that the guy was basically hanging off of him, floating in the water at shoulder height to him with his feet kicked out behind him.  All things being equal, Pickles went for Toki’s ass too, groping with his free hand, and was shocked into awe to close his short fingers on solid muscle. 

The thing was, it _was_ natural.  Pickles’ own erection rubbed raw against the front of his underwear, acid always made him horny and that was gonna be his excuse right now, yep.  The acid.  He was just lucky his was barely noticeable beyond a little prick compared to the fucking sausage straining through Toki’s shorts.  For a kiss, it was a little intense but... ehh... it felt goooood.  It felt nice to be touched, and groped, to press against a different kind of body – yet one familiar, without that distance of a stranger.  And to feel so hot in the sauna-like steam, bringing the sweat heavy to him, stewing the grapefruit in his belly.  Toki’s hands shoved down the back of his underwear and clutching at his bare ass was a little more than Pickles had bargained on, but didn’t make him stop until the guy’s fingers clawed in a grope against his cunt.

“Mmf, Toki!”  He pulled back abruptly and caught Toki blinking dazed, as if he’d only just come to.  Maybe that was it, just like – he’d lost track of where he was for a moment there, who he was with.  Pickles had to remember that the shapes undulating in the darkness for him, carried up from the steam and ripples of the water, were a hundred times more intense for poor Toki on the inside of a good, heavy trip.  Still, that had been a brush with a real awkward conversation right there.  Pickles wrinkled his face as he considered what to say, watching as Toki fell back onto the seat at the edge of the tub, and then noticed the film had come to its close, the credits rolling.

“Oh, dang.  Ya missed the best part,” he commented, and Toki looked up at him uselessly.

“I dids?”

“Guess we’ll have to watch it again some time.  Is Jodorowsky, now...”  Pickles turned back to Toki as the opening of _The Holy Mountain_ bathed them in a warmer light than the space vistas of _Dune_ , only to see the guy wriggling where he sat, pulling a weird gurning face up at the drummer.  It took him a minute to realise what was going on, but realise he did as soon as Toki slapped his wet shorts on the side of the tub to sprawl naked and pant in the steam.  Pickles rolled his eyes.  Guess he could only intervene on the acid-head’s impulse to disrobe so often.

Still, it was natural.  Feeling all the good, hot sensations of a horny trip, it was inevitable that Toki would get tangled up in the restriction of his clothes and the easiest way to untie that knot was to just take the things off.  Likewise it didn’t shock Pickles to see Toki move to slowly stroke his dick under the water, his head lolling back against the heat; it was the next logical step, if pretty hilarious his high had taken him there.  Poor kid must have been peaking.  Where was that innocence now, thought Pickles as he crossed the tub and plopped down beside Toki again, putting a foot between them this time, to watch the film.

“You seriously just gonna sit there and jack it, dude?” he asked snidely, vaguely pleased that it wasn’t him this time, and Toki rolled a blank-eyed look at him.

“Huh?”

“Whatever, dude, it’s cool.  Just don’t jizz in the jaccuzi, that’s a little too far, y’know.”  Pickles tapped his hands on the side of the tub idly.  “Even I got limits.”

Toki stared down at his hand around his dick below the steamy water, as if contemplating the horrible conundrum it posed.  Shit, it _was_ big, wasn’t it?  Pickles could only see it through the rippling water, but it had to be bigger than Skwisgaar’s.  Better not tell him, the poor guy would just die of jealousy.  Pickles smirked in the secret knowledge, watched Toki completely ignore the film and instead just wiggle uncomfortably on the narrow seat and rub his face self-consciously.

“It’s called pash rash, dude,” said Pickles, cocking an eyebrow.  “Comes with the beard.”  He stroked his beard thoughtfully, but this was not what was bothering his friend, who stared almost past him with a worried frown.

“Pickle,” Toki said suddenly, sitting up straight, and Pickles crooked an eyebrow at him, but Toki just pursed his lips thoughtfully and repeated:  “Um... Pickle?”

“Yeah, Toki?”

“Is it cuz, um...”

Pickles frowned tiredly at the Norwegian.  “What, Toki.  Spit it out.”

“Dids ya stop, um, cuz I’s, um... not ams good at kissin’s,” asked Toki, his voice wobbling though whether it was from the acid or the rejection Pickles couldn’t tell.  He could relate, though, sighed and leaned back against the side of the tub.

“No, Toki.  It was cuz ya rammed ya finger like – just a feather this way and it woulda gone right up the ol’, uh, chocolate starfish, y’know.  And like, that’s a touch past first base, ya feel me.”  He crossed his arms across his chest, and Toki balked at him.

“I dids not!  I didn’ts touch you _starfish_!” he protested, and Pickles made a _blah blah_ motion with his hand to dismiss him.  Toki scowled back.  “I just touch you pussy, who cares!”

“Emm,” said Pickles, genuinely speechless.

“You think ol’ Toki don’ts know what to am does wit’ pussy!  Jeeeeez!  I’ve fuck de ladies, I seen dis, pussy befores!  Why you gots to be such spoilsport!  All I wants to do is go kissin’s an huggin’s, you gots to be such a fuck!”  Toki punctuated his rant by slapping his fist down on the surface of the jaccuzi, and Pickles stared at him, gobsmacked.

“Em... okay.  Err.  Sorry about it, Toki.  I, uh... thought it was on accident, y’know,” he said softly, trying to reassure the guitarist although of what he wasn’t sure.  Was it better if it wasn’t an accident?  What did that even mean?!

“No axidance.”  Toki pouted hard, crossing his arms across his bulging chest.  “I just wants to kiss, mebby some touchin’s too, whatever.”

“Whatever,” echoed Pickles, looking at him, daunted.

“You’s horny too, ain’ts ya?  So what’s de big deals, I wonna know.”

Pickles let out a terse huff.  The douchebag wasn’t wrong.  His itch hadn’t gone away.  Here was someone else’s hand, one that wasn’t in danger of carpal tunnel, and a someone who didn’t appear to be surprised by his revelation.  He looked up at the film, which he’d seen a hundred times, knowing there were orgies and tits on the big screen in his immediate future.  But Pickles wasn’t a really an abstract thinker; not faced with a problem right here, right now.  And Toki was here.  And now.

“I dunno, Toki.  You’re just a fuckin’ kid, and I’m...” he murmured, his final line of defence, and held his head, and Toki rolled his eyes, giving a vicious huff.

“I’s nots a kids!  I’m fuckin’s twenty!  Dat’s _a-dult!_ ” 

“All right!  I’m fuckin’... I’m just sayin’, it’s weird.  I dunno how I feel about – ”

Toki leered at him, showing his teeth.  “You fucks girls whom’s youngers den Toki!”  Fucked up, seeing a guy rage like that while sporting a solid boner.  Still, he had a point. “Ands you shows me all dis pornos and you all cools wid dat stuff, rubbin’s on youself, but soons as it just two bros pallin’s around, jackin’s off, you goes, ooouuuughhhhhh _hhhhhhhhhue_ -eeee!”

True, he had gotten Toki to watch porn with him, since almost day one.  But like... only softcore while he was a minor, right, you had to be responsible, and Pickles had been drunk.  And besides, what the fuck else were you meant to do on a Wednesday night with some spotty fucking teenager hanging around like a potent fart.  Pickles couldn’t remember if he’d masturbated while Toki was there, but like... he couldn’t remember most of it.  And he didn’t find Toki’s impression of him too flattering neither.

But he had a point.  And he was right there, right now.  And if he really had stuck a hand down the front of his own jeans while they were watching nasties, then who the hell was he to act high and mighty about it.

Pickles smirked and sat up slowly in the hot tub, swaying in the heat as the drink and drugs washed over him.  “Okay, okay.  I guess.  I _guess._   If it’s just, pallin’ around, y’know,” he said, put his glass aside and scooted carefully across to Toki.  “Pallin’ around with our dicks out.”

Toki looked like he’d won the lottery.  “And kissin’s,” he said gleefully, and Pickles nodded.

“Yeah, and kissing.”

“And _huggin’s._ ”

“ _And_ hugging.” Pickles let Toki put his arm around his shoulders, weaving his own across the man’s back muscles as he did, shuddering slightly at Toki’s other hand sliding down his side.  He gave a gentle hum at it and leaned in to give Toki a peck on the lips, chased immediately by another, and another, soft, little kisses distracting from the hard dick sticking up by his thigh, the broad hand that groped at his ass again.

“And... fingrings,” murmured Toki, gazing dreamily into his eyes, and Pickles hesitated a moment.

“Err, that’s what I think it is, ain’t it?” he asked, and Toki grinned proudly at him, hooking his leg with his hand to pull Pickles sideways onto his lap. 

“Here, I shows ya!”  The sheer size Toki had reached hadn’t really dawned on Pickles until precisely this moment, sat on the guy’s thighs with his arm around his shoulder, as he struggled to compute that he could even fit there.  Of course Toki’s broad hand shoved straight down the front of Pickles’ underwear under the water, and of _course_ he’d meant fingering, but Pickles didn’t have a chance to say _I knew it_ before Toki had covered his mouth with another tongue twisting sloppy kiss, his fingers poked amateurly into Pickles’ cunt to a groan.

Yeah, the guy was shit at it.  Yeah, it was awkward with his underwear on, and trying to balance on Toki’s knees, and launch a defensive against a tongue that wanted to clean his molars for him, but the LSD said it was good and it _was good_ , getting hot and heavy with a strong hand on his cunt.  Pickles gave as good as he got, pushing back against Toki’s kiss and barely hearing the esoteric film in the background past the smacking of lips and splashing of the water around them, Toki’s whines and moans and his own groans as his bandmate uselessly wiggled his fingers inside him.  Pickles ran his hand over the rock solid pecs, feeling for Toki’s nipple, and it was _fucked up_ how hard that was too when he rubbed it and got the weirdest moan from the guy, like a dog on molly.  No one should be that built.  It just wasn’t right.

He ground his short dick against Toki’s palm as they kissed, finally giving up on keeping his wristbands dry as he traced his fingers curiously down Toki’s abs, following their natural centre to the bulge of his belly and then his hard cock.  Pickles wrapped his hand around it, pulling it up the length gently in a loose fist to a thrilled moan into his gums from Toki.  So say, seven inches – eight, maybe?  Nah.  Uncut.  Very straight and firm, well defined, a large, velvety head not wider than the shaft.  Good, taut balls.  A nice fuzz around the crotch, but not too much.  Toki had lucked out.

Their kiss was growing sticky as Pickles sweated out the cocktails he’d drank – Toki had long ago gone dry and gummy from dehydration.  The guy didn’t give a fuck, though, pushed on and jacked his hand up against Pickles’ cunt, stupid and unskilled but not unpleasant as each thrust rubbed his palm against Pickles’ cock.  Pickles stayed with it, kissed and circled tongues and gently rubbed Toki’s dick and balls until he could bear it no more.  The kiss was growing _sweet_ , for god’s sakes.  He pulled back, hand still around his bandmate’s cock.

Toki looked at him, dazed, and then tried to kiss again, Pickles only just raising his hand from his cock, sweatband dripping, to hold up to his mouth and stop him.  "Hold on," murmured Pickles, and he kissed Toki once more on his full lips, his thumb stroking the man's whiskers fondly as they parted, and slid off his lap to kneel on the step at the edge of the tub and reach for the jug of Paloma. 

 As he leaned forward across the stone to the jug, held up on his hands, the sopping underwear he was wearing dripped despondently and glued to his ass and junk.  This had in fact been happening all night, in fact ever since they'd gotten the tubs installed, every fucking time Pickles just got in the tub without changing to black trunks which was very often. 

It had not escaped Toki's attention, how they clung and went semi-transparent in the water so you could see the bulge of skin pressed against them or the ripe lines of his tight ass cheeks, more muscular from the hexikicks than the rest of his scrawny body.  And it had not escaped his imagination that there were options other than dick.  In Toki's limited human experience, gender was a flexible thing; he knew he was a man but what was a man?  And he knew Pickles was a man.  But he had seen chicks with dicks, in pornos Pickles drunkenly made him watch, and Toki hadn't screwed too many men, so it followed logically that, y'know, genitals were completely arbitrary and the luck of the drawer.  Observing Pickles from the other side of the hot tub he'd made note, sunk deep into the water, and thought maybe if the opportunity presented itself he could investigate that.  And investigate it he had, up to the second knuckle.  There was still stuff to learn.

Now, sucking in his cheeks, Toki reached out and snagged the waistband of Pickles' sticking y-fronts and yanked them down his thighs.  Pickles, who had dragged the jug to him now across the flagstones, briefly glanced back and snorted to see Toki behind him in the tub again, the water up to his chest as he stayed sunk at the lower level and copped a full eyeful of sodden wet red hair and swollen cunt.

"Real... _fursy_ ," the Norwegian observed, and Pickles had to steady himself against the waves as he climbed up onto the seat beside Pickles on his knees again, his hand cupping over Pickles' bare crotch and rocking his fingers against the fat lips of his cunt.  "I never sees one's puss so  _fursy_. Pickle," he said, and Pickles gave a soft grunt, feeling Toki's long fingers push up beneath his pelvis, combing through his thick pubes, his short dick wedged between Toki's middle fingers, and then rubbed back over his lips again.

"Yeah, well, you're spoilt then," said Pickles, picking up the jug in one fist as he leaned on the forearm of his other arm.  The wet stone was hard and cold beneath his warm skin. "Kids these days, I mean, seriously.  From like, '88 through, like, '97, bein' a rockstar was fur city.  I mean, they don't call it a shag for nothin', hey?  I mean -- "

Toki just kept on stroking, running his fingers through the thick hair, and then leaned forward over Pickles on his other hand, his shoulder resting against Pickles'. "I likes it," Toki squeaked into his ear, "Ams sooooo soft n' fuzzies, like a, mm,  _et lite dyr_ , I likes dis... you t'ink dat's why dey calls it 'pussy'?"

Pickles would swear black and blue that he had something very clever and funny to say in response to that, but he instantly forgot it as Toki's fingers slid slick between the lips of his cunt, his broad fingertips grazing the acutely sensitive inner folds.  He could feel Toki's cock against his thigh and his hot breath on his ear, and then - the hand removed from below to brush the dreads away from Pickles' neck - on his throat, his nose nuzzled against Pickles affectionately as he stretched out over him.

"I dunno, Toki," he said, failing to keep the whine from his voice as Toki's fingers returned to smooth over his slick lips, and raised the jug to drink straight from its brim, "I don't know why they... call it that... oh..."

Toki kissed the side of his neck as Pickles drank from the jug, his brow furrowed in distraction, feeling the Norwegian's fingertips circle his cunthole delicately.  This was insane, the intricacy of it, heightened by the LSD to just circles, circles... circuits of light and open and exposure, and of sucking, cunt-deep hunger.  He felt like he was going to sweat out his fucking soul.  Pickles filled his mouth with the cocktail and held it in his cheeks to moan as Toki kissed and nipped his ear, but cut short into a choke as the guy suddenly jammed his long fingers inside, stopped short by the knuckles of his palm.

"Glllgh," choked Pickles, letting the soft pink liquid squirt from his lips as he failed utterly to swallow and dribbled it back into the jug, "Toki..."  But Toki was knuckles-deep in an intense exploration, tongue pressed hard against his bottom lip as he wiggled his fingers inside Pickles' cunt, feeling along the fleshy furrows and ridges at the front like a crazy labyrinth, the hard curve and drop of his pelvic bone in the hollows to its side, the nub of his receded cervix which he could barely trace around with his fingers outstretched, so deep against the back wall had it pulled post-op. 

Lost in thought and the strange patterns swollen up in Pickles' heat, Toki kissed his sweaty neck again, sucking gently at the flushed skin.  Whatever ulterior motives, this shit felt wild to Pickles and he shifted his knees and hips, opening his body to the man and raising his hips receptively.  Toki circled the button of his cervix with his fingers, and Pickles could hold it behind his strained, locked tooth grimace no longer. 

"Oh,  _Toki_ ," he moaned, and that was all Toki wanted to hear, all he  _ever_  wanted to hear.  Total, sincere approval from a founding member of the band he felt so insecure in.  Total fucking  _need_ , and his name too; yes, it was  _Toki_  that Pickles wanted, Toki, right now, all Toki, all he could think about, Toki, things Toki could do, good, clever Toki, only Toki all Toki one hundred percent Toki all the time right now Toki.  Yes yes.  Toki was  _king_.

He could hear Pickles panting.  Feel his body heaving beneath him, his fist locked tight on the handle of the jug with the veins jutting out as he sweated and trembled.  Toki's swollen dick ground against the soft curve of his thigh, a hot rod of hard flesh.  Slowly, Toki moved his lips from Pickles' neck, and spoke in an uncertain whisper into his ear: "So... ams we dosings dis...?"

"Huh?" breathed Pickles, opening an eye.  He was kinda loathe to find the kisses had stopped.

When Toki made a face at him and shrugged awkwardly, his wet hair draped over Pickles' shoulders as he tried to elaborate, "Dis, um, y'knows... I's, um... gons..." - blushing against his arousal and the embarrassment of asking  _Pickles_ , you know, talking about Pickles in that way, “... bangs ya?"

Pickles took in the words, the guy's red face and wide eyes, and the laughter, quiet, scoffing chuckles, just burped up from him.  Toki turned redder.  "Oh!" said Pickles, and closed his eyes, smothering the laughter with his hand.  He hadn't even thought of it.  These things like - they just happened.  Having to make a decision... well - -

He thought of Snakes N Barrels and of Tony.  He thought of their court cases,  the betrayal, the heartbreak, his money, his time back on the streets.

He thought of Magnus, his winding kisses and manipulation, his knife-point cuntfucks and blood and hospital trips.  Of waking up on the shower floor.  Of nightmares even now, in bad weeks.  Of a mistake bourn directly of breaking a promise to himself.

He thought of Nathan, of Nathan's bedroom in that shitty little apartment, of drunk kissing and his huge dick.  Of refusing to make that decision again.  And it being the right decision, then, since Nathan didn't remember or didn't acknowledge it if he did.

And he thought of Skwisgaar, and his long fingers, and piles of beautiful girls, and his heavenly dick, and his heavenly cum that just crossed his fucking eyes for  _weeks_  following.  And his arrogance and refusal to even acknowledge that shit had happened, like it was totally cool. 

And then he thought of Toki, and his abs, and his big dick, and his fingers squirmed in Pickles' throbbing cunt, and he decided,  _well, it's different if they're European, right?_

So he swallowed his laughter, pulled a crooked grin all yellow teeth at Toki, and said, "Fuck yes, Toki.  Fuckin’, ball me."

And in that moment, Toki _was_ King.

Pickles pushed away the jug and slapped his hands down on the wet stone in front of him definitively as he shoved himself up onto his hands and knees, Toki sizing up behind him with one long leg down in the tub and the other on the seat beside Pickles.  Pickles reached back to pull the wet, rolled underwear off his legs, tossing them away across the room to land with a wet splat somewhere in the darkness and then spread his cunt for Toki, looking back at the Norwegian with dick in hand.

“But take it easy, hey?  Been a while.  And pull out, I ain’t riskin’ whatever you got from those sluts in Boston last tour, okay,” he ordered, and Toki met his gaze, the warm head of his dick rubbing against Pickles’ spread cunt.

“Okays,” he said, nodding, “Here I goes,” and steadied himself with a hand on Pickles’ hip, and then – with a little grunt of effort - shoved it straight in.

Pickles gave a bark of discomfort and barely caught himself as he was pushed forward, his eyes bugged as a clear six inches of hard meat shoved easily into his body and instantly clamed down on by a cunt unused to intrusion.  “Shit, Toki!” he scolded, pushing back at him, “I said take it easy!”

“Sorries!” squeaked the Norwegian.  The groupies usually liked it like this!  With great care this time, he slowly withdrew, cupping Pickles’ ass as he pulled it out again and then gently eased it back in.  Pickles steadied himself on the stone, his eyes closed, and savoured the feeling of Toki’s hard cock parting his insides.  Now that he was being a little more considerate, Pickles could ease into it.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and rocked his body slowly back towards Toki.  The guy got the hint, resting both hands on Pickles’ hips, and matched his sluggish thrust, each jut pushing that vital touch deeper than Pickles could get on his own.  Toki’s dick felt _good,_ like binge watching _The X-Files_ , like jacking off under the covers on a comedown, like deep fried cheese curds at the Tomahawk bowling alley, already four hours into a drinking bender, and you’re fifteen, and Jacqui is there sitting on one of the bright red diner stools in her mom’s dress from the 60s, the short lil’ baby doll one, and _Lucky Star_ is on the PA with that cute lil’ guitar part, and the gooey hot cheese just melts over your lip.  Like _good_ good _.  Damn_ good.  Curl your lip and your toes good _good_.

“You likes dat?” said Toki, nearly whispering, sounding slightly hysterical.  The whole experience of fucking a friend, and someone he looked up to at that, was blowing his mind _juuust_ a little a lot.  Pickles just grunted and stretched his neck pleasured, and Toki paused a beat to pull his other leg up onto the seat beside him so that he was thrusting down rather than up into him, wrapping his arms around Pickles’ middle to a long, idiotic moan from his friend.

“ _Ja_ ,” said Toki to reassure himself, “You likes dat.”  And Pickles did like that, a lot, the grin locked onto his face as he swung his hips back towards Toki, their pace quickening to Toki’s groan.  When he opened his eyes to peer between his legs, maybe see it piercing him, he could instead see Toki’s broad, veined hands laced over one another under his pelvis, and he realised he was doing nearly all the work against Toki’s timidness after that first push too far, rocking back on his thick cock smoothly until he was bounced back forward. 

“Fuck me, Toki,” he mumbled around his fat lip, curling his fingers into fists on the stone as he tried to rut back with greater force, “You can fuck me.  C’mon.”

“ _Hva?”_

“I said fuck me.  Dick me.  C’mon, get it.”

Toki looked at him quizzically, moving his hands to his bandmate’s hips, but chose to test his luck with a hard stab anyway.  Pickles squeaked as it hit his inside wall, bracing himself against the wet stone.  “Fuck!”  And for a second Toki was worried, a deep frown on his kissed-raw lips.  But Pickles squirmed under him, sliding back on his dick slowly.  “Fuck yeah.  Give it to me.”

Toki hazarded another jab, bringing Pickles’ hips back against him.  This one made Pickles laugh, inexplicably, rolling his eyes and squaring his shoulders as the shock ricocheted through him.  Toki could pick up enough, he caught Pickles by the shoulder and used his momentum back to rut hard into him again, finally settling into a rhythm he could chill with.  Toki liked to feel like he was winning at the sex, like a fucking workout, and he liked it better that Pickles was losing his breath with his stupid _ooooeee_ s and _aawww yeh_ s as Toki really set in to fuck him hard, the skin on wet skin slapping loudly with the force of it.

Pickles could feel the little fuck’s balls bounce off his cunt lips, the steel grid of his thighs on either side of his body, his strong fingers pulling at the flesh of his freckled shoulder.  Felt _goooooood_ , he ran his own hand through his dreads, scattering them over his shoulders, dry now, and yanked at them until Toki got the idea and sunk the hand that had been holding his shoulder into them himself, grasping the handful tight as he fucked harder, faster, panting and whining and drooling down his own chin over Pickles as he pushed his tongue into his cheek.  “You likes dat?  Yeah?” he repeated, and Pickles nodded, the dreads pulling tight on his scalp as he did.

“Fuck yeah, Toki.  Your dick’s the fuckin’ bomb.”

And that felt so fucking good, Toki hauled on the dreads to a gleeful strangling noise from his friend.  Honestly, Toki was more than a little worried they’d just pull straight off.  He could see the bald crown now, uncovered, steeping back from Pickles’ forehead and shining with sweat as the drummer bowed down and braced himself on his forearms.  The cold stone felt good to Pickles, against his body burning up, and as he descended so Toki did too, widening their stances, Toki squeaking and grunting as his rut grew more feverish.

Pickles just dissolved into it as Toki pressed down on him, sliding down beneath his body, eyes shut and smirk caught hooked onto his lip, only pulling higher as his dick touched the hot water beneath them.  He felt Toki adjust, move around and within him, and then – the other hand still anchored on his scalp – wrap his arm around the front of Pickles’ shoulders, dragging his whole body back against him.  His fuck stabbed quick and hard into his cunt, and when Pickles cracked an eye open to look back at Toki, feeling his face pressed against the side of his head, it was into scrunched closed eyes and gurning mouth, tongue crawling like some mad leech around the curled lips.

“Toki,” Pickles gasped, held locked in the man’s powerful grasp as he pistoned into his body, the drummer’s voice shaken as he was crushed and fucked like an animal, “Tooooooki... ‘member pull out dude, d-d-don’ f-f-forge-e-et...”  But it was blindingly apparent that Toki wasn’t listening.  He rutted like a beast possessed, as if he’d start frothing at the mouth, and as his grip on Pickles tightened harder he knew it was bound to barely be a second before the dude busted his fucking nut.

Time to intervene.  Pickles could barely brace himself, but barely needed to, his torso ground into the wet stone by Toki’s vicious fuck.  He got a hand free from the lock, stretching his fingers up until he felt wet hair, hanging down around his neck where Toki rubbed against him, and then snatched as big a handful as he could, yanking brutally on it as if he’d rip it straight from the man’s scalp.  Toki gave a crow of pain, suddenly releasing him, and Pickles fell face-first onto the stone with a hollow knock.

“Fuck!” he cried, clutching his head, and Toki – still in him, mind _fucking_ you – just yelled.

“ _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!_ ”

“Jesus Christ, Toki!  Do ya want someone to fuckin’ run in here?” snapped Pickles, having wilfully forgotten the hundreds of security cameras around Mordhaus as living there necessitated, “We’re fuckin’, they’ll god damn – ”

But Toki cut him short with a vicious smack across his ass, painful like a wasp sting, his dick slithering out of Pickles’ body as he leaned back.  “You ruins it!  You ruins it Pickle I fucksin’, you fucksin’ _ruins it,_ ” he cried, sitting back on his knees, “Was gons so good you _fucksin’!”_

“Douchebag.  That weren’t called for,” muttered Pickles, rubbing his ass as he turned onto his hip in front of Toki.  “Jesus, you’ll still cum, just don’t fuckin’ do it in me!  Okay?  Try to keep your fuckin’ brain in your fuckin’, tiny Scandy skull, y’hear me!”

Toki crouched behind him, pouting hard at Pickles as the guy rubbed the red handprint burning on his lily white ass.  “You means – ” he said, and Pickles frowned sympathetically at him.  Maybe something had gotten lost in translation.

“Try again.  Okay?” he said, turning over so that he was sitting before Toki, a leg on either side of him, and Pickles talked slowly as he tried to explain, “But this time, When You Are Gonna Cum – okay?  When you’re gonna nut, Toki.  You gotta pull your dick out.  Okay?  Do ya understand me?”

Toki furrowed his brow, his dick slick in his hand from Pickles’ cunt.  “Yeah,” he said, looking vacant, and Pickles snorted through his nose at him.

“Tell me what I just said then.  Do it.”

God, what a _drag._   There was a pussy right there, Toki should have been fucking it right now!  But he concentrated, beyond the fractals and ripples that moved between Pickles’ freckles and span off the light that caught on his eyebrow rings, and tried: “When I’s gons _sprute_ , gots ta pulls it out.”  He gestured obscenely between his dick and Pickles’ cunt, and Pickles dropped his shoulders in relief.

“Yeah.  Okay.  Get that sucker back in here then.”  Pickles took hold of Toki’s thick, slippery cock, guiding him back between his legs and, as Toki wrapped his arms around him, squeezed it back into his cunt.  It felt just lovely sliding back up there after pulling out early before, and Pickles curled his toes at Toki’s sides as the man held him at the side of the pool and kissed him sweetly, on his lips, picking up a gentle thrust, and then at his neck, racing and quickly feverish again, the fuck hard and his lips hot.

“Oh, fuck, Toki,” Pickles breathed, his body feeling moulded by Toki’s powerful hands as he groped his pudgy chest, his thighs, and jacked quickly into him, the drummer barely holding on as his ass slipped on the wet stone at the edge of the tub.  He stole a glance down his body at the thick, pale dick buried in him, pulled barely out glistening with the tight skin shifting on its hard shaft, something he could feel all the way up inside him as it stabbed the back of his cunt.  He wrapped his arm around Toki’s back, groaning into his ear, feeling his own orgasm climb from the acute angle his cock ground into, and wedged his hand between them to rub his swollen dick.

“God, yes.  Fuckin’ – so close,” he grunted, and Toki sucked and licked his neck to little whimpers between.  It was happening again, and Pickles could feel the swell of Toki’s cock inside him, the way the point of his tongue was rubbed hard into the skin of his neck, and he cursed himself but quickly yanked at the guy’s hair again – softer this time.  “Toki.  _Toki._ ”

This time Toki remembered himself.  He pushed Pickles back suddenly and with too much force, the drummer slid a little as the anchor was removed from him and catching himself on his shoulder with a yap.  Before him, Toki was pumping his dick madly, his balls straining tight and his face twisted into an ecstatic, tongue-out smile, and Pickles _wished_ he was that high.  He guessed, you know, a heavy spurt squeezed out on his belly, or up on Toki’s chest, and sat back to watch it hungrily, rubbing himself eager for the guy’s humiliation.  But there was just a manic squeal from Toki, and then jizz hit him in the fucking eye, and Pickles gave a squeak of disgust.

“Oh, _gawd!_ ”  It was fucking everywhere.  Pickles had felt it squirt hot across his face, from his cheek to his dishevelled bald scalp, then another stripe across his jaw, across his mouth and moustache, dripping thickly from his lip and beard.  When he opened his good eye, it was smattered all over his neck and chest and belly, and dribbled down Toki’s dick where he rubbed the last strains of pleasure from himself with his face craned up to the high ceilings.  Fucking hell.  The guy really _was_ a young dude after all.  Pickles hadn’t seen that kinda velocity outside of porno.  Crazy fucking shit.

He wiped his eye carefully with a finger, trying to clear as much as possible, and spat the little that had gotten between his lips onto his chest.  “What the fuck, Toki.  I’m a fuckin’ mess!” he complained, trying to shake a blob from his hand, and settled for wiping it off on his gut.  He reached back to brush his dreads over his shoulders again, and squealed as his finger touched another globule of warm semen.  “Euuughhhh, it’s in my _hair!_   You bastard!”

Toki panted over him, trying not to look like he was admiring his handiwork.  “You saids not in de waters,” he pointed out, and Pickles just stared at him, jutting his jaw at the Norwegian.  “Okay, well, sorries!  Didsn’ts means to shocks ya or nuttin’s...”  He shrugged, glanced around himself, cool in the afterglow of his orgasm.

“Okays, welp.  Ams gonsa, gets wash off, sees ya Pickle,” he said, and went to stand up and get out of the tub, only for Pickles to suddenly brace his legs on either side of Toki, trapping him as the drummer bugged his eyes at him.

“Ooooh no you’re fuckin’ not.  I ain’t cum yet, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he snapped, and Toki frowned at him, sinking back into the water.

“What’s ya mean?  You musta, I cums so...” he wondered, and held on to Pickles’ leg gently.  “Maybes you miss it?  Um, I think ya cans do that, wit’ pussies...”

“Oh, you bastard.”  Pickles narrowed his eyes at him.  “I know when I’ve fuckin’ cum, okay.  It ain’t gonna kill you to do a lil’ quid pro quo, douchebag.”

“Err,” said Toki, looking down at Pickles’ cum streaked body helplessly.  “But we alreadies bang...”  And Pickles crooked his eyebrows high.

“Seriously?  _Seriously?_   What the fuck has that guy been teachin’ you then?” he snapped, and then rolled his eyes when Toki looked no less clueless.  “Okay, fuck!  Give me your hand.”

Pickles put out his hand aggressively for Toki’s, and the Norwegian offered it, letting Pickles take him by the wrist.  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” muttered Pickles, sitting up on his arm with his legs spread as he guided Toki’s hand to his cunt, “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this – right.  I’m gonna teach you somethin’ that’ll serve ya the rest of your life, Toki.  And you have no god damn excuse for fuckin’ it up, cuz my clit’s hard to fuckin’ miss.  All right.”

He pointed aggressively to his dick, poking hard from the red fur of his crotch.  “This.  Just find this.  And rub it.  _Don’t_ slap it.  Unless the person’s into that, whatever.”  He placed Toki’s thumb on it, pressing it into the flesh.  “Just rub it.  Like those little wobbly things on your PlayStation, dude.  Or like Mortal Kombat.  Button mashin’.”

He watched a moment as Toki, looking daunted, did so, wiggling his thumb over the slick nub.  “Mmf,” he grunted, putting his other hand back behind him, happy with the progress the guy was making, “That’s good.  Harder.”

Toki looked up at him, gathered himself more determined, and obeyed, grinding the pad of his thumb into Pickles’ dick with his tongue jutting from his lips with concentration.  With all the fucking and fingering, and the orgies onscreen, Pickles soon felt the pleasure gather, tipping his head back at it.  “That’s it.  Yeah, Toki.  Mm.  Faster.”

Toki wet his thumb on Pickles’ cunt with a quick stroke, and then went back to rubbing his dick obediently, enchanted by the way it raised Pickles’ knees and tipped back his chin.  Experimentally, he hooked his left hand under Pickles’ knee, steadying it as he rubbed him.  The pleasure mounted with Toki’s strong and tireless thumb, like a balloon blown up in Pickles’ loins, and he moaned softly between tight grins at the build.  “Oh yeah.  Fuck me.  God damn.”

Toki looked down at his softening cock, and then at Pickles melting under his thumb, and decided it was rhetorical.

“Oh!  That’s right.  Oh yeah.”  Pickles grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling gently on them as he snorted his way through his plateau.  “Keep goin’, keep goin’, _fuck_.  All right.  _All right!_   Aughoo, _gahhhd,_ Toki -- !”

And just like that he came, blacking out against the fuzz of the psychedelics, his whole body arching and undulating over the flagstones against Toki's hand, sinking into the pool of pleasure and lukewarm jaccuzi water.  Even as it lifted, a beautiful, crystalline clarity, Pickles just laid there, his legs dangling one over the edge of the pool, the other over Toki’s hand, his loins jerking with dying fish twitches.  The Norwegian had astutely stopped.

“Pickle?  Dids ya cum?” came Toki’s curious voice, and Pickles merely nodded where he was stretched out, grinning to himself.  Toki looked over at the film, decided it wasn’t his type of thing, and then over his friend, sprawled on the stone floor and covered in cum.  “Umm... ams okay if I goes now...?”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Pickles wasn’t going anywhere.  He guessed he’d probably wash off this gunk in the jaccuzi, fall asleep watching _El Topo_.  “Go take a shower.  You probly smell rank.”

“Um, no...” Toki didn’t think the smell of sex was bad, per se, just he’d prefer to be clean.  That was the thing that was done... “Hmm.  Thanks for de movies, Pickle.  You’ms a goods fuck.”

This got Pickles to open an eye, his eyebrow raised a touch.  It sounded weird coming from Toki, stepping out of the water now with his feet slapping wet on the stone.  But Pickles took it for what it was, and replied, “Yeah, you too, Toki.  Enjoy your trip.”

“Um, thanks ya.  Later.”

And that was pretty much it.  Pickles did manage to get all the jizz off before one of the hooded goofballs came to check up on him, and his holiday went on basically as normal, plus perhaps a little closer to Toki.  Since everything was a one-time-thing in Toki's experience, he didn't chase Pickles for a repeat, just chilled out as usual, a little greater appreciation, a greater equilibrium between them reached.

The only thing of note, really, was Toki coming home with a nice, barely dressed girl fan some nights later, and side-eyeing Pickles as he took her into his room.  Pickles just rolled his eyes, held the ice pack to his aching head, and smirked with the satisfaction of leaving someone else’s life a little better off, y’know? 

And he utterly forgot to have words with Skwisgaar later.  When Nathan had returned, trudging through the main room and seeing them together just hanging out, watching TV (Pickles' choice of show, always), he sized them up and grunted, "Oh, so I guess you're best pals now, huh," and they both just shrugged.  Well, that's what he got for leaving them alone together.  But whatever.  The job was done now. 

And Pickles was a _good fuck_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! Comments mean the world to me as always. :)


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